


Just That Simple Thing

by ToraK (torakowalski)



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Import
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-19
Updated: 2007-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/ToraK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Daisy Duke, did you break into my house today?  John's voice was extra rumbly when he was pissed.  Matt didn't find that hot.  Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just That Simple Thing

**Author's Note:**

> [This fic was imported from the Yuletide archive by OpenDoors. So yes, there are two copies of this fic, because I didn't want to lose the comments on either version.]
> 
> thepouncer stepped in to beta this at the eleventh hour and made sure it had some continuity and other unheard of things. She rocks a lot; thank you!
> 
> Written for Sascha

 

 

Matt was coming out of Way's Comics, the new Doom Patrol held tightly to his chest, when he heard someone calling his name.

He clutched his paper bag tighter and tried to look like a person in a hurry. "Hey, Matt! _Matthew_."

He stopped. The Matthew thing was bad enough without having to hear it yelled across a crowded shopping mall. He turned grudgingly.

"Hello, Lucy Genero."

Lucy gave him a look. "McClane," she said, pulling off her little white pageboy cap and smoothing out her bangs.

He shrugged; it was kind of hard to keep up.

She didn't say anything else, so Matt was left wishing his arms were free so he could wave them awkwardly. "So, uh, what are you doing here?" She lifted her shopping bags and he grimaced. "Yeah, stupid question."

Man, he sucked at small talk. He liked Lucy fine; she was a nice girl, hot and ballsy and fun, but he had no idea what to say to her that didn't begin with _hey, remember that time we were nearly murdered by terrorists?_. He wasn't sure, but he didn't think that was the best icebreaker ever.

"Right, so." Matt hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I have to go... be somewhere else." He looked around and suppressed a shudder. "Someplace less Christmas-y."

She reached out before he could so much as shift on his feet, tugging his arm down and gripping it. "Nu uh, no way. I've been waiting outside this shit hole for the past half hour for you, the least you could do is make it worth my while."

Matt blinked. "You were waiting for me? How the hell'd you even know where I'd be?" They'd met up a few times since July but they definitely weren't at the unplanned hanging out stage.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Duh, it's payday. Where else would you be but buying your sad little comic books from your sad little comic book store?"

"They're not comics, they're-," he started then shrugged. They'd had this conversation a _few_ times before and Matt was getting tired of sounding like Seth Cohen. "Oh, whatever. Why the hell were you waiting for me?"

"I was just going to call you, but my cell's fucked, so I got Dad to do it for me and apparently you're not answering his calls?"

Damn. Matt had known call screening was going to come back and bite him in the ass one day. "What? Don't be stupid, why wouldn't I be answering his calls?" Just because he maybe, kind of, perhaps had the smallest of tiny crushes on John. Possibly.

Lucy shrugged. Her frown looked suspicious, but not knowing, thank God.

"So what evil thing do you want me to do?" Matt asked quickly before she could put any serious thought into figuring him out.

Her frown didn't entirely fade, but she held out her arms, handing over her bags. He took them before he thought it through. "Today's my day for serious, hardcore present buying and I need a Sherpa," she said brightly.

He looked down at the three Macy's bags and lone Victoria's Secret bag that he was now accidentally holding. "Oh, joy."

*

Three hours later, Matt was exhausted. The only way he could be sure that his feet were still attached to his body was the blinding pain that shot through his insteps whenever they stopped moving long enough for him to feel it.

"Hey, we're doing great," Lucy told him, checking her list. "Just Mom and Jack and Aunt Marie to shop for now."

" _Great_ ," Matt echoed. He glanced around the store, half looking for an escape route, and instead spotted a display of miniature, remote control helicopters. It was totally not his fault that they immediately made him think of John. "Hey," he said, picking one up and waving it at Lucy. He nearly hit an old lady around the head with it but, really, it was cool as shit and she should learn to duck. "Don't you think this would be cool for your dad?"

Lucy just looked at him, gaze sharp and level until he flinched.

" _What_?"

She shook her head sadly. "Your Freudian crush on my father is kind of disturbing, Farrell."

"Oh fuck you," he said, not blushing, not blushing, because she didn't really mean it, was just trying to get a rise out of him. "And fuck Freud, too, the old cocaine snorting misogynist."

She rolled her eyes. He seemed to make her do that; maybe that was why they'd never hooked up. "Oh, whatever. Dad doesn't do Christmas anyway."

"For religious reasons?" Matt asked, surprised; he'd have thought that an excuse to get domestic with an electric carving knife would have been right up John's alley.

"For health and safety reasons."

He blinked at her and she grinned. "Last couple of times Dad tried to do Christmas, he ended up getting nearly dead."

Huh, that was a better explanation than a yam phobia or something. "The Nakatomi thing?" Matt asked, remembering. "Oh and the thing at Dulles?"

Lucy smirked. "You have certain stalker-like tendencies, Farrell, you know that?"

Matt glared at her. He'd only done a little bit of research; it wasn't his fault his freaky brain remembered everything. "So, what, he just doesn't do Christmas?"

"He thinks it's safer."

Matt wasn't all that into seasonal cheer and he thought that organised religion had a lot to answer for, but that really sucked. "That really sucks."

She shrugged. "He hasn't since we were little kids." She didn't look sad, not really, but maybe a little regretful and, spur of the moment, he grabbed up the helicopter.

"Let's change that, okay?"

"He'll kick our asses," she warned, but a smile was starting to tug at the corner of her mouth, so Matt just said, innocent as he could, "Hey, if you're scared..."

She made a face. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

*

When Matt said `let's change that', he meant in some small way. He meant that he really wanted to buy the helicopter for John and needed a reason to do it, but Lucy, apparently, heard 'let's change twenty years worth of Scrooge tendencies in one holiday season'.

She dragged him into Wal-Mart for decorations and lights ( _Wal-Mart_. At Christmas. He almost lost a toe), then into the car to drive around until they found someone selling Christmas trees by the side of the road. She grabbed his hand, dragging him from tree to tree until she found one that was apparently, "Perfect, Matt, look at it."

Matt tipped his head. The tree was tall and sleek but just on the still-green side of old. "It's kind of old."

"It's middle-aged," she said firmly. "And it's perfect."

It was also really fucking scratchy, as Matt discovered when they tried to hogtie it to the roof of Lucy's car. "Jesus, fuck," he snapped, as pine needles tore through his palms.

Lucy, the heartless bitch, just rolled her eyes. "Suck it up, Matthew."

The guy who worked there, the one who was `helping' them load the tree, smirked and Matt really, really wanted to give him the finger. He settled for pulling the needle splinters out of his hands and flicking them in his direction; it wasn't nearly as satisfying.

Apparently, Matt's near-death by Christmas decoration was only stage one in what was now, apparently, _their_ plan to infect John with Christmas Cheer.

The second stage was to break into John's home.

"Oh, _hell_ no," Matt said firmly, backing away from the door.

Lucy didn't bother to look up from where she was trying the lock with one after an endless number of keys she apparently carried in her purse. "What's the matter? Did you lose your balls again? Seriously, Farrell, you need to get them sewn on tighter."

He decided not to give her the satisfaction of a comeback. (Well, that, and he couldn't think of one.) "How do you not have a key to your father's house?"

She scraped her bangs back out of her eyes, looking frustrated. "I have the key, okay? I just have a lot of _other_ keys too."

"You really do. Is this like some weird kind of bedpost knotching? Like you sleep with a guy then steal his house key?"

She turned to him then, slow and incredulous. "Does that really sound to you like something anyone would do?"

He had a friend who did that, that was why he'd thought of it. So he told her that.

She snorted. "Yeah, an _Internet_ friend."

The fact that that was true made Matt shut up again.

Finally, finally, the door popped open and they hustled inside. Why they were rushing, he didn't really know. If anyone was going to call the cops, they would have done it while the two of them stood outside the house for twenty minutes: a girl, a guy and an 8 foot Christmas tree weren't exactly inconspicuous.

*

This wasn't the first time Matt had been in John's house, obviously. He'd lived here for a few weeks post-fire sale until Matt had found a new apartment, but he hadn't been back in a while. (Basically, if he was honest with himself, he hadn't been here since the vague sort of hard-on he'd had for John ever since he met him had escalated into a full on crush, but Matt wasn't that big a fan of being honest with himself so he liked to pretend he'd just been busy.)

Mostly, the living room looked the same.

Matt remembered the crack in the ceiling, the soft ticking of the wall clock from nights he'd lain here awake, sweating and shaky from another stupid nightmare about car chases and people in helicopters trying to kill him, nights when he gone and stood in John's doorway until he could breathe again. But there was a space on the windowsill, right between the photograph of Lucy at her high school graduation and the one of Jack at his, that bugged Matt for ten seconds until he closed his eyes and realised what was missing.

John had removed his wedding photograph.

That was. That was really weird actually; John hadn't even liked Matt picking it up when he'd stayed here. Maybe John was moving on; that was possible. Not likely, from a guy who still clung to the music he'd listened to as a kid, but anything was possible. Maybe John was seeing someone who didn't like the reminder of her competition, even if Holly didn't know she was still part of the race. Maybe... actually, Matt didn't want to think up anymore maybes, that last one was kind of depressing. Not that he thought he had a chance with John, obviously, but fantasies worked better when there was no direct contradiction in reality.

"Matt," Lucy said, breaking into his rambling internal monologue. She had the air of someone who'd said it before. "Are you going to help?"

"Sure," he said distractedly, turning away from the place where the photo wasn't. Lucy had pulled a chair up to the corner where they'd put the tree and was carefully stringing up lights.

He contemplated asking her if John was seeing anyone, but Matt didn't trust his ability to be nonchalant that much.

"Get yourself a chair," she called over her shoulder.

Matt just shook his head, shaking himself out of his crazy. "Right."

*

Later, when he was back home, finally getting to read Doom Patrol, sprawled full-length on his crappy sofa, listening to his crappy sound system and wishing his crappy insurance company would hurry up and pay out, his phone rang.

It wasn't a crappy phone; Matt had some standards.

"Hello?" he answered, flipping it open one-handed and not bothering to look away from the page he was on.

"Daisy Duke, did you break into my house today?" John's voice was extra rumbly when he was pissed. Matt didn't find that hot. Not at all.

"Uh. Sorry, wrong number?" he tried, but John just laughed.

"Right. Sure. So that's not you? And it wasn't you who violated the sanctity of my home space today?"

Matt blinked. "What?"

John laughed shortly. "Hell if I know. I've been stuck on some pych training course all fucking week."

Matt carefully laid the comic on the floor and rolled onto his back. There was no one here to see him, so he smiled.

"It was Lucy's idea," he said. It might not be noble, but if he was going down, he was taking the daughter with him.

"Funny," John said. "She says it was yours."

Matt shook his head even though John couldn't see. "All hers. Assuming you hate it. If you love it then I am happy to take the credit."

John's laughs always sounded kind of reluctant when it was Matt who was causing them, but Matt didn't care because a laugh was still a laugh.

"You're an asshole," John said.

"I really am," Matt agreed easily.

"But I don't hate it."

"Wow," Matt said, because sarcasm was the best way of dealing with your heart leaping in your chest. "Let's try that from the top and see if you can sound a little more grudging."

"Let's try you from the top and see what you sound like with my fist rammed down your throat."

It was a fair comeback, so Matt conceded the point.

"Anyway," John said. "I get off shift at ten on Christmas day."

"In the morning?" Matt asked, not really sure why John was telling him.

"Yeah. So if you were planning to come around, that would be a good time."

Wait, what? "Wait? What?"

John was silent for a minute; even his silences managed to be impassive and that was pretty damn impressive. "You filled my house with Christmas, Farrell, the least you could do is help me celebrate it."

"I- You want me to-?" Awesome, Matt, real smooth.

"Unless you've got other plans?" For the first time, maybe ever, John started to sound doubtful.

"No," Matt interrupted hurriedly. "No plans." Earlier in the year, he'd been kind of planning to go home for the holidays, let his mom cook for him, but as shitty as his apartment was at the moment, it was still home and he couldn't shake the feeling that it might explode or something if he left it alone too long. Not that being in his last one had saved it. Yeah, he jumpted off that train of thought because it wasn't going anywhere good. "I just assumed you and Lucy would want, like, time to yourself."

John coughed. "Lucy's spending Christmas with her mom. So, I'll-" _be alone_ was as obvious as the fact he wasn't going to say it.

"Right. Cool." Matt said quickly. "Yeah, that'd be cool. I mean, if-" He stopped himself, not even sure what he was going to say.

"Don't get too excited, you'll be doing the cooking," John said.

"No, I." Matt would not sound like an eager puppy; Matt would not sound like an eager puppy. "Sure. I mean, I didn't really have any other plans."

"You amaze me," John said, but he sounded like he was grinning.

*

"A turkey," Matt's mom asked incredulously down the phone. "I should start with something simpler if I were you; maybe boiling an egg?"

"Haha, mom," Matt said, scrolling helplessly through a 100 page .pdf he'd downloaded from... God, somewhere. Many, many websites ago. Each page had a different, more complicated-sounding recipe. This was stupid; he didn't want to earn a Michelin star, all he wanted to do was not give John salmonella. How hard could that be?

"If you wanted a traditional Christmas dinner, Matthew, you should have just come home."

Matt sighed. "I came home last year," he said, trying very, very hard not to sound like he was whining. "I told you I had to work."

"At the secret FBI job that you're not allowed to tell me about?"

"Yep," Matt said cheerily. "You got it." Bowman had actually offered him the week off, but he wasn't about to tell his mom that.

His mother blew out a long breath into the phone. It was her _not going to argue_ sound. "Are you trying to impress your girl?" Matt's hands skittered and his mouse jumped across the desk.

"What girl?" Even though he knew: straight after the fire sale there'd been a whole load of articles linking him and Lucy and he'd never heard his mom sound so thrilled. "She's not my girl, mom, I told you that."

She didn't say anything, but he could just see her knowing smile. "Who are you trying to impress then?"

 _Her father_ , Matt thought but just managed to stop himself from saying. He wasn't really interested in giving her a heart attack for Christmas.

His mom was laughing by now. "I wish I could see you, you must be so red. Do you have a pen and paper handy? I'll let you have grandma's secret recipe."

*

Matt got to John's apartment early on Christmas morning, so early that John wasn't back from his shift. Matt dropped bags of frozen vegetables onto the doorstep, keeping the turkey balanced precariously on one hip and dug around in his pocket for the key he'd been keeping in his dresser, just in case. He felt kind of guilty over not giving it back; he'd only needed to crash on John's sofa for two weeks, nearly six months ago, but he'd sort of wanted to have it around, just in case, and John hadn't asked for it back.

Matt got set up in the kitchen, pulling out the crumpled bits of paper he'd stuffed into his pocket, bearing every family cooking secret his mom had thought to give him last night, unpacking his provisions and spreading everything across the counter.

He could do this. He could so, totally- wow there were a lot of carrots. How did a person peel carrots?

He flipped on the radio and something sounding suspiciously like Wham! spilled out. Eugh. He fiddled with the dial (the _dial_ , Jesus, someone needed to introduce John to the digital age) until he found a station where the opening chords of _Teenagers_ were starting up. Much better.

Right, carrots. He dug around in the drawers until he found a knife. Then put it down gratefully when his cell phone buzzed.

 _Burnt down the kitchen yet?_ Lucy's text read.

He flipped the phone open and hit the button to call her. "Isn't it like 6 a.m. there?" he asked when she picked up.

"Jet lag," she groaned, sounding every bit 6 a.m. "Why did I agree to this again?"

He shrugged, balancing the phone against his ear. California for Christmas sounded pretty damn nice right about now actually.

"So how's Dad?"

"Don't know," Matt told her, settling into a rhythm with his chopping. "He-" He stopped, attention caught by the radio news anchor.

 _Repeat, Park Avenue is closed from 46th to 40th due to a situation at Grand Central station, armed units are in position_.

"Uh, Luce?"

"Yeah?"

"What's the likelihood of your dad getting in the middle of another shitty Christmas?"

"Huh?"

Instead of answering, he held up the phone to the radio and let her listen for herself.

"Oh, shit," Lucy was saying, when Matt put the phone back up to his ear. "No, he wouldn't, there's no way."

"Right," Matt said slowly, except of course he would; he was John McClane. He curled his hand around the vegetable knife and felt a weird sense of displacement, like if John was getting himself in trouble, Matt should be there too. Matt shook his head; that made no sense, what did he think he could do?

"Matt?" Lucy said. She sounded a lot more awake now, awake and worried.

"Oh, hey," he said, "Probably just coincidence. You know-" Keys clanged in the door.

"Matt?" John's voice echoed down the hall, "My kitchen better still be standing."

Matt jerked, just missing his finger on the down slice. There was buzzing in his ears.

"Hey," John arrived in the doorway, looking tired and rumpled, but not at all involved in a hostage situation. Not at all dead and bleeding. "Sorry I'm late. The roads are all fucked up. They say anything about it on the news?" He stopped, frowning. "You okay?"

"Uh," Matt said dumbly. "No." He held out his phone. "Lucy wanted to say hey."

*

"So, hey," Matt said, nonchalant as he could, while they were waiting for the turkey to roast. "I got you something."

John looked up, face blank like he was trying not to show he was interested. Matt was totally on to him. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." It was stupid, it was a gag present really, but Matt could still feel his heart bang against his ribs when he ducked under the counter to pull the box out from where he'd hidden it earlier. He passed it over and tried not to bounce on his toes while he waited for John to unwrap it. "I thought you might, maybe, want something a bit smaller to practise with. You know, in case you ever have to land at an actual airport," he added as John pulled the wrapping paper away.

John turned the box over in his hand. After a second, he laughed out loud and Matt breathed again. "Thanks," John said slowly. "Punk." But he was grinning, fingers slipping under the lid of the box like he really wanted to open it, and Matt couldn't help grinning back.

Matt swung himself up onto the counter and nudged John's knee with his toe. "What did you get me?"

John made a face. "Some fucking manners," he grumbled, mostly good naturedly Matt thought, but he got up anyway, and pulled a CD-shaped gift out of one of the drawers.

"Awesome," Matt said, reaching for it. The only thing better than CD-shaped gifts, he'd found, were game-shaped ones, but this was John; it was a bit late to be looking for a miracle.

John rolled his eyes, but he handed Matt's present over anyway and Matt couldn't keep the grin off his face when he tore off the wrapper. "The Used? Oh, man, that's awesome. Thank you."

"Yeah?" John asked. "Lucy said they might be your thing."

Matt just smiled harder. He used to have this album back when he'd actually owned, like, _stuff_ rather than a big pile of molten scrap, and getting another copy felt stupidly good, like another little missing piece slotting back into his life. "Wait," he said, realising. "You actually went into a store that sold this?"

"Yeah," John said, his shudder fake enough to make Matt have to bite back a laugh. "And you owe me. The kid at the desk had eyeliner. Eyeliner and pink hair for fuck's sake. I only think it was a guy because of the tats."

Matt's laugh broke free. "You're so new age, McClane."

*

"So, mainly you live on take-out, right" John asked a couple of hours later, when they were sitting at his little kitchen table, making their way through dinner and half-watching _White Christmas_ on the TV in the corner.

"Hey," Matt said, offended, "The turkey's good."

"Mm," John agreed around a mouthful of it. "Turkey's real good. Shame about the... everything else."

Matt glared, flicking a rock hard garden pea across the table. It bounced off John's forehead, leaving John blinking and a little confused-looking. Matt bit back a laugh.  
John glared. "You really want to start something with me?"

Matt smirked, drawing the bowl of peas closer. "Think you can take me? I've got all the ammo."

"Yeah," John scoffed. "I've had worse odds."

Matt let himself grin. "So have I." And threw a handful of peas.

*

After dinner (which was actually pretty decent - semi-cooked vegetables not withstanding), they piled everything into the dishwasher and went to collapse on the sofa in the living room.

Matt wasn't really sure what he should do now that dinner was over, but John didn't seem to want him to leave and Matt was confident that if John McClaine ever didn't want you around, it would be pretty easy to tell. So he curled up on the opposite end of John's sofa and settled back to watch TV while John dozed.

At least, that was the plan. After about ten minutes, Matt realised that he was watching _John_ rather than the TV and felt his cheeks burning, glad John hadn't noticed.

John's eyes were closed, his head titled back on the sofa and he looked... soft somehow, like his barbed-wire edges were temporarily smoothed. This, Matt realised, this middle-aged guy sleeping off his Christmas dinner was what kept Matt feeling safe, even with all the remembered shit he couldn't quite get out his head. Knowing John was around, would come around if Matt called, was about as reassuring as you could get. As Matt could get, anyway.

John looked touchable and Matt had been wanting to touch him for so damn long, telling himself he didn't, he couldn't, telling himself it was something else, a crush, nothing.

Matt reached out. The curve of John's shoulder was hard under his t-shirt, skin hot and muscle solid. Matt fit his hand around it, stroking his thumb carefully over the place just below John's collarbone, wondering at how the skin there felt delicate and durable all at once. Wondering at what the fuck he thought he was doing, but pushing that thought aside. Matt had never been all that good at self-restraint.

John's head rolled on the back of the sofa and he looked at Matt, a frown line between his eyes. Matt couldn't tell if the lack of punching was just a temporary sleep-delay or if John maybe hadn't decided to mind yet. While he was waiting to find out, Matt took a chance on sliding his hand up over John's chest, up the line of his throat to press against his close-shaven cheek.

The frown-lines between John's eyes deepened. "Matt?" he asked. His voice was soft, kind of scratchy, and Jesus _Christ_ , Matt wanted him.

"Uh, merry Christmas," Matt said uncertainly.

John was blinking at him slowly, like he was in some kind of daze. "Yeah," he said thickly and reached out for Matt. Oh, okay, that was unexpected. Unexpected but _awesome_ and Matt went with it, letting himself be pulled forward, up against John's chest, one arm along the back of the sofa, one of John's arms hooked around his waist, until their mouths brushed together, John's breath warm and slightly beery.

"Shit," Matt said, pulling back. His heart was pounding wildly and he kind of wanted to puke. "Uh, percentage probability of you kicking my ass now?" Ass-kicking would, he felt, be kind of unfair considering John had definitely not been passive in the kissing department, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen.

John's arms tightened around Matt for a second. "Yeah," he said, "I'd have to say low." He found Matt's right hand and brought it down to - holy shit - his crotch. Matt felt his eyes go wide; John was hard under the cup of Matt's hand.

"Wow," Matt managed, voice coming out two octaves lower than normal. "I'm an awesome kisser."

John pressed down on Matt's hand, nudging it against his cock and Matt was happy to go with it. "Don't give yourself too much credit. I've been like this since I came home and found you barefoot in my kitchen."

Matt thought about moving his hand, but instead used his free one to smack the side of John's head. "Asshole," he said, but he could feel himself blushing and John just grinned.

"What? The sight of your ass swaying in the kitchen does things to a guy, you know."

"I didn't know," Matt said automatically, while his brain spun around in circles at how surreal this was. He'd had plenty of conversations like this (well, _some_ conversations like this), ones where you kept saying anything until you hit the magical, mystery word count that meant you could have sex. But the fact that he was having it with _John_ , that he could feel John's erection straining against his fingertips and warm under his palm, made him wonder how this could be happening.

"Matt?" John asked, apparently sensing that he was losing Matt to the inside of his head, and Matt leaned in, kissing him. John grabbed for Matt, tipping his face up and licking his mouth open. Okay, yes, definitely real.

"Shit," John said, ragged and breathlessly minutes, maybe hours, later. "Shit." He pulled back, thumb rubbing at the corners of Matt's mouth. "This better not be my Christmas present."

Matt frowned. "What-?" And then he got it. He laughed. "No. Dude, no, if anything this is _my_ present," he said, trying to sound earnest without tipping over into lovesick girl being given a pony.

John blew out a breath. "Yeah," he said, "Okay."

And then he kissed Matt again.

Once, twice, the edge of Matt's stubble catching on John's lips - and if Matt had known to expect this he would totally have made more of an effort shaving this morning - before John made a low, hot, growling sound in the back of his throat and sort of _seized_ Matt, wrapping his arms around Matt's body, his hands pressing against the back of Matt's skull, pushing him close and deepening the kiss until Matt was dizzy and breathless and still not about to stop.

"Fuck," John panted into his neck. " _Fuck_ ," when Matt licked across his jaw, bit at his neck. "You're-" He'd pulled Matt half into his lap and Matt twisted his hips, grinning when John ran out of words.

"I'm?" he asked, getting his hands under John's shirt and finding chest hair, hard nipples, swallowing back a moan.

"Really fucking annoying," John said, and did some kind of complicated roll thing, arms tight around Matt, that had them both on the floor, John taking the weight of the fall then immediately rolling them so Matt was under him.

Christ, that shouldn't be as hot as it was.

"Ow," he said, just because, even though it hadn't hurt.

John bit his chin. "Shut up." And Matt did because then John's hands were on his fly, getting his pants open and Matt got distracted trying to kick them off, trying to get them both naked because he didn't care anymore if this was crazy, he really wanted to feel all of his skin against all of John's.

"Fuck sake," John hissed, pressing down on his hips, "Keep still, okay? I'll get you naked."

Matt flopped back against the floor, trust in John still automatic and immediate like it had been from the beginning.

"Better," John told him, finally getting Matt's legs free of his jeans and boxers. John kissed Matt's belly, the edge of his teeth sharp enough to steal Matt's breath, make his legs fall open totally without his permission. "Matt," John said, running his hand up the inside of Matt's thigh and Matt nodded. "Yes." Yeah, he wanted that.

John pushed up onto his feet, knees clicking as he straightened up and Matt watched his ass, still inside his jeans sadly, as he made his way out the door.

Okay, so, this was unexpected, Matt thought shakily, taking the opportunity to pull his t-shirt off. Unexpected, but really awesome, he amended, when John reappeared, distractingly naked and dropping a tube and condom packet onto Matt's stomach.

"Welcome back," Matt said, grinning.

John rolled his eyes at him and knelt back down on the floor, fitting himself between Matt's thighs and leaning in to kiss him while slick fingers slid up between his legs. Matt closed his eyes, biting his lip as John got him ready then arched, breathless and suddenly sparked with sweat as John pushed inside.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," John swore, falling forward until he could brace himself on Matt's shoulders and Matt got one leg up around John's waist, his other heel sliding helplessly along the wooden floorboards as John thrust into him. Matt's back squeaked against the floor, and he could feel the sweat building up between them, under him, making them slip and slide faster and faster as John thrust harder.

Matt's shoulder collided painfully with the table's leg, but he didn't care, just reached up to wrap his hands around it, over his head, anchoring them because John was gone, oblivious, totally lost in fucking Matt and Matt could get lost in the feel of getting fucked. The drag and slide of John inside him was achy and blunt and heavy, completely fantastic and Matt tipped his hips up, giving up on holding in his moans, groaning out John's name and _harder_ and _please_ , not even knowing what he needed anymore, just knowing he had to have it.

"Shh, shh," John growled, "Matt, fuck, come on." One of his hands left Matt's shoulder, leaving behind a sharp, throbbing ache from the bruising crush of his fingertips, and groped for Matt's cock.

Matt saw black then red then white and came, ears ringing, distantly aware of a crash that had to be the table knocking over, but not caring, fumbling his hands up for John, tugging him down and kissing him, wet and messy, sharp and careless with teeth as Matt came down from his orgasm and John worked up to his.

Matt tipped John's head, biting at his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. John's hips jerked and Matt licked the shell, scratching his blunt nails up John's chest. "Your turn," he whispered, squeezing down around John as hard as he could.

"Fuck," John said, soft, almost like a prayer, body twitching as he came.

They lay in silence after, both taking forever to catch their breath. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Matt that they'd kind of trashed the living room and Matt wasn't sure if he was supposed to be feel embarrassed or not.

He rolled his head, flicking his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. His gaze fell on the window sill, on the empty space where John's wedding photo used to be.

"Hey," Matt said, aiming for nonchalant, but probably missing. "So, you took down your wedding photo."

"Yeah," John huffed a little as he rolled over, settling against Matt's side and rubbing his hand back and forth over Matt's belly. Matt ached a bit, but it felt really good. "I thought it was time."

Matt turned his head, looking at John. "Yeah?" he asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

John smiled. "Yeah."

Cool.

"I, uh," Matt tried to find something else to say, but he couldn't stop smiling. God, this was embarrassing. "Do you still hate Christmas?"

John shrugged. His hand trailed up Matt's belly and over his chest. "It might be growing on me," he confessed and Matt smiled. "You know," John added, and wow if _that_ was what someone failing to sound nonchalant sounded like, then Matt could be a fucking poker pro. "I'm not that keen on New Year, either."

Matt laughed, something unclenching in his belly. "Smooth, McClane," he said and rolled over to kiss him.

/End

 

 

 


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